Kosovo's Serbs face a bleak future

In the Balkans, there are many dates in the calendar full of dread symbolism: the date the Ottomans defeated the Serbs; the date the Nazis invaded; the date of the Srebrenica massacre. Now in Kosovo two dates are set to resonate among its ethnic Albanian and minority Serb population.

This Sunday, February 17, is likely to be the day when the province under the titular control of Serbia forcibly becomes a state under UN supervision.

The centuries-held dream of self-governance will be realised with jubilation by Kosovo's two million Muslim Albanians, who form 90 per cent of the population. Meanwhile, the 100,000 Serbs left in Kosovo are going to have their noses rubbed in the flag of the world's newest country.

For the Serbs, March 17, 2004 is the date to remember. Violent unrest erupted between the Serbs and Albanians, and during the fortnight that followed, Albanians burnt Orthodox churches and 60,000 Serbs were driven from their homes in the small enclaves of Kosovo. At least 19 civilians were killed while the Kfor peacekeepers largely sat back and did very little.

Many Serbs have since retreated to the northern town of Mitrovica, where a spiked mountain capped by an old Serb castle acts as a redoubt to the dispossessed and fearful.

Mitrovica resonates like Belfast of old, with the River Ibar providing a barrier between ancient enmities. On one side, the Albanians appear energised, like Northern Ireland's Roman Catholic nationalists emerging from dark days; on the other, the Serbs are like east Belfast's working-class Protestants: neglected, largely ignored and with bleak prospects.

North of the Ibar, there is defiance. The shops are shabby and its thick-set people are apprehensive but stoic. The Serb sense of disfranchisement and victimisation is deepened by the bright new apartment blocks springing up on the southern side and the Albanians' thriving market.

The span of a UN-guarded bridge separates them - and, until now, has been enough to keep them apart. The rolls of barbed wire on the pavement wait to be thrown across the road - possibly on Sunday.

Independence is inevitable, the Serbs have accepted that. They no longer harbour any illusions that their brothers in Belgrade will ride to the rescue and Russia's pro-Slav talk of brotherhood is seen as rhetoric.

After decades of doing it to others, the 100,000 Serbs in Kosovo are now in line for ethnic cleansing. On the front line in Mitrovica stands the Dolce Vita café, a name that perhaps reflects the black humour of its patrons.

Inside, Serbs sip coffee, speaking quietly and looking over their shoulders aware that, two years ago, an Albanian threw a bomb into the building, injuring nine drinkers. The owner, Sasha Radosavljevic, is a strong-jawed Serbian with sharp blue eyes.

He speaks with little hope for the future, but also with defiance: "The Albanians will never manage to push us out. For the time being, it is impossible for us to live together, but we can live side by side. Let time heal the wounds. If I was not optimistic, I would not invest money here."

However he warns that Serb groups, some with access to weapons, would "provide help" if comrades were attacked in the southern enclaves. "March 17 broke the confidence of the Serb people in the police. We don't have faith that those Serbs living in enclaves will be safe."

A short walk up the street, which is lined with posters of Serbs' Right-wing nationalist leaders, Stashic Cica had little to commend independence. "The insecurity here is very stressful," she said.

"The international community wants to achieve independence at the cost of our human rights. We are very much afraid, because we don't trust the Albanian leadership. The people running the country are all former terrorists from the KLA [Kosovo Liberation Army]."

There is some paranoia, too, and not just among the Serbs, about a nascent Islamic extremist movement that is being closely monitored by the Americans.

New and refurbished mosques are appearing, mainly through Saudi funding. While Kosovo Muslims are secular, there are reports of women being paid 250 euros a month to wear the hijab. Moderate Albanians mutter of young men appearing in mosques with extremist views, but their powerbase is small.

Much of the "cream" of the Serbian middle class has already deserted Kosovo, leaving behind those who might be less thoughtful in response to provocation. With the UN, the international media and even their fellow countrymen unable or unwilling to help, there is despair at what the future may hold.

The UN peacekeepers, which could soon include an extra battalion of British infantry drafted in at 24 hours' notice, are braced for the violence that will announce Kosovo's arrival.